there's blood and darkness and too many noises. the air between their teeth reeks of panic and cold spearmint, harvested by chiron during his nightly rides. night winds are eerily silent, a last text sent and a last pair of lungs breathing their final breath. interesting how we can hate love and then hate religions, when both of them are the same thing. the actions of one person do not define the group they are in, and loving is not a consequence either.
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i wouldn't call this poetry. it's more of a rant, honestly
(pray for Orlando)